


Helpmeet

by cincoflex



Series: Helpmeet [1]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-02
Updated: 2012-06-02
Packaged: 2017-11-06 13:59:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/419681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cincoflex/pseuds/cincoflex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki needs a connection to Earth; will magic and mischief made it possible?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Helpmeet

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I send loving shout-outs to my betas, **VR_Trakowski** and **Lovellama** for their encouragement, support, proof-reading and general sweetness. Nobody writes in a vacuum, so while I probably suck, they certainly don't! :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki needs a connection to Earth; will mischief and magic make it happen?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love and gratitude to my betas, VR-Trakowski and Lovellama; they are the best at what they do!

She usually wasn’t this clumsy, but it had been a damned long day what with most of Manhattan being turned to rubble, and everyone at S.H.I.E.L.D. running on the last of their adrenaline. After Agent Romanov had passed the thing to her, Special Technician Cynara Sigyn knew it was she was lucky she hadn’t gouged an eye out tripping as she did on the way out of the battle area; the point on the damned staff had been sharp enough to slash through her lab coat and Kevlar battle uniform. Luckily the only injury she suffered when she stumbled with the staff was a small cut, right between her breasts.

Cynara Sigyn dryly snickered to herself; it wasn’t the first prick she’d had there, although it had been a while. Checking the wound discreetly, she saw it was barely a scratch, and she felt like an idiot for having it happen in the first place. A little disinfectant when she got off-duty; that would take care of any problems, she decided.

No doctors, thank you.

It took fifteen minutes to pack the Asgardian staff away in the stasis field box, secure it and add it to the invoice of salvaged material to be taken to the helicarrier. There were still several other high priority items left, and Cynara sighed, turning to the next piece of alien technology that needed to be handled, and hoping she might be able to clock out sometime, say, before the month ended.

*** *** ***

Shaggy-haired Cynara Jane Sigyn stood five ten in her bare feet. She’d participated in roller derby, like her mother before her, and balanced that with a healthy love for archeology and technology. When she’d first graduated from Stanford six years ago she’d hoped to land a job with some prestigious museum, or barring that do fieldwork sponsored by her alma mater. What she didn’t expect was to be recruited into S.H.I.E.L.D.

But S.H.I.E.L.D. had come calling in the form of Agent Phil Coulson, who assured her that her skill set would be well used and compensated if she’d join them. Cynara was cynical of course—since when had any branch of law enforcement needed an expert on runes and burial sites?—but Coulson had corrected her on all counts. S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn’t law enforcement per se; they were Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division, and would she at least sign a security waiver to take a tour of the facilities?

She did. 

She joined up before the tour was over.

Coulson didn’t have to say much; the facilities dazzled her, and the rest of the package—benefits, investments, retirement—all of it appealed to Cynara’s sense of purpose. At the very least she’d be able to stay on the cutting edge of applied tech to her field, and the chance to tour the world instead of staying in one spot sounded good too.

So she moved her way up from the lowest tech position, finding her leadership abilities and competitive edge helped the climb. Instead of being a member of a research and analysis team Cynara now had her own office and lab (tiny), with two underlings—well one full-time anyway—doing the menial stuff. Then two years ago the big man—Fury himself—had given her the directive to focus on Nordic mythology, particularly the pantheon and their personalities.

Then she’d met Thor. THAT had been a mind-blower. He’d been everything the legends had purported, and even though Cynara wasn’t hot for blonds, he wasn’t difficult to look at, oh no. He’d granted her several interviews, and finding first-hand confirmation of what was generally known about Norse mythology made her giddy. Thor for his part seemed pleased to have someone who at the very least could pronounce ‘Yggdrasil’ correctly among other things. He gave her what help he could with rune translation, and between them they developed a rapport that Cynara was pleased to have, even if he did tease her about her name.

“You must never meet my brother,” Thor told her once. “If the wheel of history turns true, then he will steal you from another and make you his bride, Cynara Sigyn.”

“But I’m not a god,” she’d reminded him. “And I don’t see your egotistical brother stooping so low as to choose a mere human over all the babes in Asgard.”

Thor had looked slightly melancholy and she remembered a little too late how rumor had it he himself had the hots for Doctor Foster. She tried to apologize, but Thor had merely given her a small smile. “Loki may have a black heart but he has one nonetheless; take care, Cynara.”

But she didn’t believe in fate; life on Earth didn’t work the way it did elsewhere in the universe, not by a long shot. Sure there were parallels, but as far as she was concerned, Theoric Simon was the only man for her. They’d been engaged for the last year, and as soon as she could arrange it they’d be off to Vegas for a blazing weekend of sex, slot machines, and room service.

Theo was brilliant and adorable, and knew more about Snorri Sturluson’s work than anyone else on the planet. If Fury hadn’t given her the Nordic directive Cynara knew she’d never have met Theo. Theo even looked a little like Sturluson, who according to the one woodcut seemed to have been a shaggy panda back in the day. Still, Theo made her happy, and she knew she’d make him happy, if S.H.I.E.L.D. would give her enough leave to get married.

*** *** *** 

_She knew she was dreaming. The woozy feel to her surroundings told her that. A flat desolate place, with what looked like hot springs everywhere. Montana? Cynara wondered. She’d never been to Montana. Maybe it was Yellowstone._

_Walking further, she thought she heard something, felt a slight tremor to the ground but it didn’t worry her much. Cynara rubbed the little cut between her breasts and wandered on, humming to herself. It wasn’t a very interesting dream, she thought, and moved around a boulder only to see a naked man stretched out on the ground._

_NOW it was more interesting, she decided. Holy cow, what a body! Long and lean and very pale, but muscles like cords. Cynara felt a shiver through her own frame, and a very faint wariness at the back of her thoughts. Something about this seemed . . . weird._

_She moved closer, looking at the man, letting her gaze sweep along his legs to his dark silky groin. Ohmy. Definitely hung, and he wasn’t even aroused. Nice flat stomach, long pecs and a great set of shoulders . . ._

_‘Who are you?’ the voice spoke in her head, puzzled and soft. Cynara gazed at the man’s face and thought about it for a moment._

_‘I’m me,’ she let him know. ‘Do you need . . . clothes?’ it seemed stupid to ask, and it would be a shame to cover up that body, but Cynara felt it was kind to ask._

_‘I do not need them; I am perfect,’ the man told her in a mild voice. ‘I do not remember choosing you.’_

_That hurt. Cynara scowled. The man stared at her, and she realized he was tied up. With pink cords._

_Bondage? Whoa._

_More tingles ran through her, compounded when he flicked his tongue out and touched his upper lip before speaking in her head again. ‘I wish to see you naked,’ he ordered._

_Cynara looked down, but she was still in clothes._

_The man pouted. ‘Most unfair.’_

_‘It wouldn’t be right,’ Cynara admitted as a flash of guilt surged through her. ‘I have someone.’_

_‘And?’ the man asked, not getting the point._

_‘Theoric wouldn’t like it,’ Cynara admitted. All of a sudden a long glittering teardrop of green popped out of nowhere over the man’s face and splashed down onto it. He drew in a deep breath, his body convulsing, tendons pulling tightly against the pink ropes holding him._

_The ground rumbled, and Cynara jumped over the man, floating down on his other side. She leaned over the man and watched as the green slime dribbled down his angular face and onto the ground._

_A momentary expression of desolate pain etched his features, and it was so pitifully melancholy that Cynara reached down to cup one cheek, feeling a flush of pity for him. ‘I’m sorry.’_

_‘You are the only one on this plane of existance who is,’ he told her bleakly. ‘Go, dream of other things.’_

_She wanted to help him, but he shook his head, and right before the next glittering drop fell, he smiled at her. The heat of desire played on his mouth and the spark in his dark eyes sent a wave of pleasure rolling through her . . ._

Cynara woke up in the last throes of her orgasm, red-faced and quivering, feeling completely nonplussed at the oddness of the experience. It had been _years_ since she’d had an erotic dream strong enough to—years. She sighed and rolled over, trying not to blush and feeling a giggle start to well up inside her. 

Losing it. She was glad Theo was still in Boston and not around at the moment; she didn’t think he’d appreciate hearing about her S and M trip to Yellowstone, especially the nice little nightcap at the end. A few minutes later she was just on the edge of falling asleep when the fleeting thought occurred to her that the man on the ground looked familiar. 

His face anyway.

Something about . . . Stuttgart.

*** *** ***

A week later, Cynara found her paperwork had expanded exponentially, and to top it off, the Director wanted her to sit on the debriefing. THE debriefing, with all the top agents. She wasn’t sure why; nothing that had happened over Manhattan had involved mythology to any degree she could see, but you didn’t say no to Nick Fury, so she went.

On the way she passed Coulson’s empty office and needed a long moment to compose herself before she walked on.

He’d been a great guy; the one who’d recruited her, who occasionally stopped by to see how things were going. The one who got her access to see Mjölnir first-hand after they’d found it, and understood exactly how she felt about seeing proof of a superhero.

God she was going to miss Phil.

The conference wasn’t as big as she thought it was going to be. Cynara had assumed that officials from the city and reps from the rest of the world would be there, but no, it was just a handful of S.H.I.E.L.D. people like herself. She settled in the back and listened while Fury talked about the Avengers, and about future threats to Earth.

Interesting, but Cynara still wasn’t quite sure what her connection was until Fury threw out the name of Thor’s brother, and made it clear that although they’d defeated him once, he was the sort of galactic pain in the ass who’d probably try again. She tried not to squirm through this part of the speech but it was difficult because she’d made the connection now of face and name from her dream.

Loki.

The realization that she’d seen the God of Mischief himself buck-assed naked—or at least fantasized it—left Cynara feeling very uncomfortable. He’d been responsible for single-handedly demolishing the majority of a city borough, and was clearly nobody to mess with, dream or not. 

On the other hand, if she admitted she’d dreamed about him, Fury might insist she get scanned and prodded and tested for God knew what sort of trace or bug or what have you. Cynara had no intentions of going through that thank you very much. It was hard enough to get the blood test done for the license, and she’d seen some of the fancy machines the doctors for S.H.I.E.L.D. had on hand.

And anyway, it didn’t qualify as a sighting did it? A dream?

An . . . orgasmic dream?

She kept her mouth shut.

*** *** *** 

_The landscape was still desolate, and Cynara accepted it wasn’t Yellowstone. She moved forward, knowing full well that while the first time visiting here might have been a fluke, a second time was a bit more serious. She tried to walk slowly and kept her eyes down, but it didn’t change things._

He was still sprawled out in all his bare glory, looking completely unperturbed. As Cynara moved closer, he raised his head and eyed her. ‘You have returned. Good.’

‘I don’t think I should be here,’ Cynara told him, working hard to look him in the face, and not let her gaze wander anywhere else. 

His smile was lazy and confident with just a hint of naughty boy in it. ‘And I think you should. We are *meant* to be. If anyone knows that, you do.’

A drop of green goo began to materialize above his face, and Cynara flinched. She knelt at his side to cup her hands under it, but his voice stopped her. ‘NO. It will kill you. Catch it in something other than your flesh.’

She looked about and as happens in dreams, found the right thing. A small stone bowl, shallow and colorless. Cynara picked it up and held it under the thickening drop. It fell into the basin with a hiss like steam, and Cynara felt the bowl grow heavy in her hand.

‘Shit,’ she muttered, realizing the dilemma. 

He laughed softly. ‘Yes.’

‘You could at least say thank you,’ Cynara told him.

‘Why? This is but a second’s reprieve in an eon of torture. You will wake very soon and I will still be here, night after night,’ he replied lightly.

‘Look, I . . . don’t want you to suffer,’ Cynara admitted, realizing it was true. Nobody should be tied up and have venom dripped on them for eternity. Not even Loki.

He looked at her intently, as if truly seeing her for the first time, and smiled once more. ‘You have feelings for me—as you should.’

Cynara scowled. ‘I could just walk away.’

‘But you will not. You are dreaming of me,’ came his reply, ‘just as I am dreaming of you. What greater proof do you require that destiny links us?’

Before she could reply, another hissing drop of venom began to build, and Cynara shifted the bowl to catch it. She leaned over him, and felt him blow a teasing breath up against her chest, cool and erotic. She shivered, caught between arousal and anger, both moods deeper here in her unconscious mind. ‘Stop!’

‘But we are both SO enjoying your conflict.’

‘Just tell me how to free you,” Cynara managed between gritted teeth. The bowl was nearly full and getting heavier.

“Freeing me will not free you,’ he pointed out. ‘You do know that.’

Another drop began to form, and Cynara focused on it instead of Loki’s solemn face. ‘Just TELL me!’

‘Let it fall.’

‘Let it . . .”

‘Fall,’ he repeated impatiently. ‘In due course my agonized contortions will free me. Of course my sanity will suffer and my wrath will rise, but my revenge will not fall on you, my destined bride.’

Cynara carefully pulled the bowl away and stood with it uncertainly. ‘I’m engaged to someone else.’ It felt weird to say, but she had to.

‘And I have had trysts . . . mostly with Angrboða,’ Loki shrugged as best he could in his bonds. ‘That reminds me; I owe her child support.’

Cynara made a face. ‘*Child* support? You sired a wolf, a serpent and the first Goth chick!’

‘Wild oats. You and I will use protection.’ He arched an eyebrow at her, and even though he was tied up and stark naked, Cynara fought the urge to laugh at the sheer absurdity of it all. 

She stepped back, still balancing the bowl in her hands. ‘When you free yourself, will Ragnarök begin?’ The drop began to lengthen, and Cynara thrust the basin under it, trying to watch it and Loki’s face under it at the same time.

“I cannot stop it from happening, but time, this cycle is not the same for you and I,” he pointed out. ‘Let the poison fall, my Sigyn.’


	2. Chapter 2

She didn’t dream about him after that, but there were constant reports of increased seismic activity throughout the United States. Cynara said nothing to anyone. Thor hadn’t returned, and most of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s focus was on repairing the helicarrier and analyzing every aspect of the battle of Manhattan, which kept most of the personnel busy—at least those who weren’t actively monitoring Earth and space anyway.

Cynara meekly submitted her reports while striving for a low profile, and applied once more for leave, hoping against hope that it would be granted this time. If she could just get married before Loki freed himself, she might be able to change the mythology. After all, she argued with herself, Thor loved Jane instead of Sif, then that was already a shift of the known paradigm right there.

When the leave was approved, she wasted no time in calling Theoric, who fussed a bit, but ultimately agreed. “I’ve got a few things to finish, sweetheart, but I’ll meet you in Vegas. The Valhalla, right?”

“Right. I know I’m rushing it, but they’ve only given me a week, Theo, and who knows when the next chance will come?”

Cynara couldn’t tell him the real reason that centered on the mounting apprehension with each new quake report. Theo might be versed and immersed in the sagas, but she knew perfectly well that he’d think she was nuts if she tried to convince him the tremors were connected to Ragnarök.

So she packed, gave an apartment key to a neighbor and caught a flight to McCarren, keeping her fingers crossed. It was tough to avoid sleeping, but Cynara figured it was safer not to. After three transfers and one nearly missed flight she arrived in Las Vegas at just after midnight. The shuttle took her to the Valhalla which sat on the edge of the Strip, looking as absurd as all the other themed hotels that crowded up against each other like a police line-up of misconceived concepts.

The Valhalla had faux rock everywhere, and heavy timbers that were supposed to imply a vaguely Teutonic/Norse theme. The owners had even tried to get Thor to endorse the place; Cynara remembered his horrified expression when shown the concept art, his strongly-worded rejection using terms that made her blush. She couldn’t blame him, but it was hard to explain how Las Vegas worked, and how normally sane and easygoing people became crazed gamblers there.

Thor was amused. “Perhaps it is how _your_ world wishes to honor your dead, but this is no hall of the valiant in _my_ eyes.”

Seeing it in person for the first time, Cynara winced and had to agree; the Valhalla personified the word ‘tacky’. Fortunately it was only for the weekend, and she intended to stay inside for most of that—a thought that had her feeling another flush come to her face as she checked in and took a folded note from the clerk at the desk and made her way to the room.

Theo had made arrangements at Cupid’s Wedding Chapel apparently and he too, was distressed by Valhalla’s pseudo décor, writing that they should consider setting off the smoke alarm before they checked out. That made Cynara laugh aloud, and she dumped her travel bag in the room, trying to ignore the faux antler rack over the headboard of the king-sized bed. 

She spotted Theo’s luggage and the fact that it was still unpacked made Cynara pause; her S.H.I.E.L.D. training kicked in as she quietly did a sweeping search of the room. Nobody was there, and the only items she found were Theo’s belongings, neatly stacked as if a bellboy had delivered them. The sense of paranoia abated but didn’t quite disappear when she pulled out her cell phone and called him.

“Theo? Where the hell are you?” she demanded when he answered.

“Cupid’s of course. They had an opening for two AM, and I figured we’d beat the crowd,” he told her through the faint static of the line. “That is, unless you want to wait.”

“No, I’m good with it,” she assured him. Cynara figured she’d let her mother and step-dad know later instead of calling them immediately with the good news. Her mother would be thrilled; Harry relieved. “I guess I’d better get over there, huh?”

“Only if you want to get married,” Theo snorted. “I brought a bottle of mead to toast the occasion.”

“Yum,” she told him, blew kisses and hung up. It didn’t take long for her change into something a little more festive—in this case a peach mini-dress--and head down to the lobby for a cab, feeling relieved that in a few hours she’d be Mrs. Simon, and any future dreams starring the God of Mischief wouldn’t matter.

The chapel was as tacky as its name implied, and Cynara found herself trying not to roll her eyes as she spotted Theo in the gold and red velvet lobby. He had his nose buried in a copy of Germanic Linguistics for Dummies but set it aside when he saw her, rising for a kiss.

He looked like a junior version of Santa Claus, Cynara thought with affection. Blue-eyed Thoric Simon sported a full beard and the blonde shagginess of a true Norseman, but had the soft and slightly tubby build of an academic through and through. She hugged him hard. “Thank you.”

“Thank _you._ I never planned on getting married again, but then I never thought I’d meet a hot babe who knew the Prose Edda forwards and backwards either,” he told her with a grin. “Shall we?”

“Let’s do it,” she linked her arm in his just as the building shook violently. People called out in alarm and a shower of dust fell from the ceiling, but after a few seconds everything settled down once more, leaving the visitors to Cupid’s Chapel laughing nervously to each other and making remarks about ‘a whole lotta shaking going on.’

“Don’t like those,” Theo muttered, pulling up from his protective crouch and wiping his glasses. “We’re not even in California.”

Cynara brushed plaster bits from her hair, her heart beating faster. She took Theo’s hand, squeezing it tight. “Never mind that; let’s just do this and get back to the Valhalla, okay?

Theo shot a dubious look at the ceiling but nodded. They made their way to a little room labeled ‘Love Nest One’ where a frizzy haired woman in a leftover choir robe of gold lame and red velvet waved them in, looking slightly bored. “Okay, I had a few cancellations so if you’re ready, we can get started here. Gotcher license?”

Theo handed over the Nevada marriage form and stood swaying a moment. Cynara dug in her purse for her driver’s ID and a tip for the woman. She reached out her other hand to steady Theo. “Not having second thoughts are you?” she asked, half-teasing, “or did you hit the mead early?”

“I am ready,” he murmured in a low, almost flat tone as he straightened up, and Cynara would have looked at him but the woman in the choir robe was clearing her throat loudly and waiting for them to face her.

It didn’t take long. Cynara tried not to be nervous, and gave all the right replies, feeling a growing sense of relief as the ceremony went on. The music coming in over the PA system was a Muzak version of _‘Goin’ To the Chapel’_ and it was slightly warped, as if the tape had been on loop too long. By the time the vows were finished, Cynara couldn’t wait to get out of Love Nest One and away from the noise that was trying to give her a headache.

She felt Theo cup her face in his hands before he kissed her, his green eyes bright, his mouth hot on hers. Cynara shivered under the delicious probe of his tongue, feeling a surge of heat flutter through her stomach. When he reluctantly pulled back she gasped a little, thinking that this marriage thing might be the best impulsive decision she’d ever made.

“Very nice, congratulations,” the frizzy-haired woman murmured. “Now I need to witness your signatures and file the license. We have two scenic photo settings out in our Garden of Paradise and Bridal Boudoir if you’d like souvenir glossies of this momentous occasion.”

“Tonight’s consummation shall be souvenir enough,” Theo told the woman, and Cynara blushed as she scrawled her signature on the indicated line of the license. She handed the pen to Theo, who bent and added his signature in an elegant line of runic letters. The document was whisked up by the woman who carried it over to the scanner in the corner of Love Nest One. 

While she did that, Theo pulled out the bottle of mead and opened it, pulling the cork out with his teeth. Cynara stared at him, wondering when he’d taken to wearing lifts in his sneakers, but he distracted her by pushing the bottle into her hands. “Drink, my bride,” he told her in a pleased voice, and never one to turn down free alcohol, Cynara did, enjoying the honeyed heat of the mead down her throat.

She gasped, feeling slightly dizzy from the kick, figuring it to be at least 150 proof by the burn.

“Honey, we only allow booze out in the lobby and the photo settings,” the frizzy haired woman called over. “Sorry about that. Here, your license and a lovely complimentary certificate from Cupid’s Chapel, suitable for framing, or if you stop by the lobby we’ve got a selection of frames available starting at three ninety-nine.”

“We’ll pass,” Cynara muttered, rolling her eyes. She slipped the woman a twenty and received a wink in return, which made her blush again. Theo pulled the bottle from his lips and examined it as if he was disappointed in the contents. Carefully she linked her arm in his. “So it’s done. Should we go . . . celebrate?”

“It will be,” Theo intoned, “a night to remember.”

This struck Cynara as so weird and so unlike Theo that she started to giggle. The mead might have had something to do with it as well, and she had to settle into the cab next to him before she could stop spluttering every time he looked her way.

“S-S-sorry sweetie,” she managed, tucking the bottle away in her purse. “I’m just excited.”

“As you should be,” came his reply. He added, “As am I.”

“Theo baby, are you all right?” Cynara asked, trying to look at him in the flickering casino lights that briefly flashed along the cab’s windows.

“I’m fine,” he assured her, and gently pulled her up against his chest. Slightly reassured, Cynara leaned against him, giving a small sigh.

“So we’re married. It’s a good thing I put your name on the apartment lease already,” she babbled. “Think you can move in before the end of the month?”

“Anything you want, my queen,” Theo murmured into her fluffy hair.

She tried to move them through the lobby quickly; Cynara didn’t want to look at the disappointing décor any more than she had to, but Theo slowed and glanced around in clear amusement. “This . . . _this_ is supposed to be Valhalla?”

“I know, pretty bad,” Cynara agreed, wincing.

“It is so beautifully _hideous_ ,” Theo murmured in amusement. “A fortress of dung and chemicals raised by vermin to a level beneath the notice of the very gods they seek to emulate! A rank temple of vice adorned with artificial jewels and false valor! I adore it!”

“Yeah, it’s good for a laugh,” Cynara agreed. “Come on, I think we’ve got the Vàli suite.”

“Lead on,” Theo told her with a smile.

Once upstairs Cynara unlocked the door and reached for the light, but Theo stopped her, pulling her into his arms and swinging her around, one of his feet slamming the door behind them.

“And now . . . . time for deeds best done in moonlight,” he murmured seductively, and she shivered.

“Sweet-talker,” Cynara managed before Theo bent to kiss the side of her neck. She swayed against him when his warm lips grazed her skin, shocked at how her skin pebbled into goose bumps at his light caress. Already her nipples were painfully hard, and when one of Theo’s hands slipped up to cup a breast, she gasped.

“You please me,” Theo whispered, “allow me to return the favor.”

Cynara wondered about this new romantic streak in Theo; normally he was more direct; not a bad thing in a man, but before she could consider this further, he bent and kissed her, mouth settling on hers in a decidedly possessive way.

She squirmed, unable to stop herself from meeting his tongue with her own, and within seconds Theo had steered them towards the bed, moving in the darkness with unerring speed. Cynara barely had time to gasp before she and Theo tumbled onto the mattress with a heavy thump. Giggling again, she tugged on his ‘Berserker in training’ tee-shirt, pulling it off as he gave a growl of approval.

More kisses, hot and hungry, taking her breath away. Cynara threw herself into them, savoring the taste of Theo’s mouth. Normally his kisses were tobacco-tinged from his pipe, but he must have brushed, because now his mouth tasted faintly of mead and something else; something that reminded her of ozone. She wanted to concentrate on these little nagging thoughts, but every time she tried to think, Theo nipped or kissed or touched her in a way that dissolved her focus, and by the time she’d lost her dress and bra Cynara resolved to leave any brain activity to the morning.

“How much do you love me?” he demanded, his breath hot in her ear, making tickly shivers run over her ribs. Cynara wriggled again, sliding her arms along his smooth, lean torso, struggling to undo his jeans.

“Lots. Tons,” she huffed. “A little help here?”

“Shhhhhh,” he whispered, and slid a hand down her stomach, fingers gliding under her panties and through her curls. Cynara moaned and arched up against his touch, feeling a surge of lust rocketing between her hips, and the power of it dazed her.

She and Theo had a good thing; she knew that. They’d been together for months now, and things were fun and felt great, but tonight seemed to hit a new level of intensity; her whole body felt like a live wire, tingling and pulsing uncontrollably. Right now Theo’s fingers were sliding and stroking through the slickness between her legs and she felt light-headed as she groaned again. “Oh baby . . .” Cynara gasped.

“Since first I saw you, I knew I could pleasure you as no-one ever has, or will,” came the answering whisper. “You’re not like the others my bride, my beautiful Sigyn . . .”

Cynara felt her body begin to tense, but something about what Theo said made her look up, her hair tousled. “What?”

But he gently tugged the panties down and pressed kisses along the tops of her thighs, face moving between them and Cynara squealed when Theo’s dark head moved deeper, his hot tongue flicking in teasing strokes until it slid around that tiny point of unbearable pleasure.

She arched up, past caring, soaring through an orgasm so strong that she actually gulped a breath, fingers scrabbling on the sheets. Theo shoved his shoulders under her thighs to ride it out, and she felt the breath of his gloating laugh against her wet curls. When she finally relaxed, Cynara gave a great gusty sigh, her eyes closed. “OooooohGod. That was friggin’ aMAzing!”

“She’d be overjoyed to hear it,” came the muffled comment from the lips against her inner thigh. “Being an advocate of love as she is.”

“Theo,” Cynara murmured, “I know you’re up to your horn rims in the mythology every day, but let’s not drag it into bed with us, okay? Want me to return the pleasure, or do you want to have your evil way with me?”

“Oh I think the latter is well overdue,” came the purr, and Cynara giggled as she felt Theo slither up over her supine body, the sweet friction of his torso a body kiss that made her smile. She cradled him with her damp thighs, reaching down to cup his shaft, and purred at the heavy feel of it. 

“Want,” she growled, and the sound changed to a groan as he slowly arched into her, his girth sliding thickly in a teasing stroke. Cynara opened her eyes as Theo’s hair brushed her face.

“Want,” he told her, and she saw something in his green eyes, something hungry and vulnerable and familiar. Her legs tightened around his lean hips even as Cynara tensed, looking up into Loki’s face.

“Yoooou . . .” she breathed, confused but aroused. “Shit.”

“We shall talk later,” he told her with a solemn little smile. “Love me now.”

And Cynara did.


	3. Chapter 3

She wanted to kill him. Realistically Cynara knew she couldn’t; at least not bare-handed. He was a god—or an alien with far more technology than she ever would have—and therefore pretty much invulnerable. Nevertheless, if she’d had an AK-47 within reach, an attempt at instant widowhood would be hers.

Loki lounged against the padded headboard, studying the rack of antlers overhead, his smile infuriatingly smug. “You should be proud to be my bride.”

“I was tricked!” she hissed, pulling the sheet around her, for all the good it did. Thank God she was on the pill. “You fucking bastard, what did you do to Theo? Did you kill him too, like Phil Coulson?”

“Coulson?” Loki shot her a quizzical look. “Remind me—there have been so many . . .”

She glared at him. “Quiet guy in a black suit. You stabbed him; he shot you.”

“Oh. THAT one,” Loki murmured. “He had—how do you say it? Pluck. He would have made a good slave. And no, I did not kill Doctor Theoric Simon. He is still alive at 894 Cardinal Way in Boston Massachusetts, smoking his pipe and making notes—incorrect ones—about the Brísingamen episode. Regrettably, I decided to let him live despite his erroneous research and questionable hygiene.”

“What did you DO to him? He was supposed to be here! I CALLED him!” Cynara wailed. The night had taken on a new level of unreality, and she fought not to beat her head against the wall.

Maybe she should, she thought. If she pounded hard enough the antlers might fall and kill the bastard on the bed.

“He is alive, he simply does not remember you, or your relationship,” came the calm explanation. “A simple memory wipe; very common among Asgardians, and far better than he deserved.”

“He was going to be my husband!” Cynara hissed. “This was supposed to be our wedding night!”

“It IS our wedding night.”

“Not OURS! HIS and ours. His and mine—you aren’t supposed to be in the picture!”

“We were destined,” Loki told her with a knowing smirk. “And it’s clear to me that passion of your caliber would be wasted on that Rune chipper. You were meant to love through the whole night, my bride, and he would never be able to last.” To demonstrate his point, Loki extended a finger and then let it dangle.

Cynara bit her lips, forcing herself NOT to react, but it was difficult. “Well you’ve had all the loving you’re going to get. I want a divorce.”

“A second round? I thought you’d never ask,” Loki purred, reaching for her. 

She glared at him. “Find yourself an ice giantess, asshole.”

He gave her a wounded look, his face as gaunt and melancholy as a lonely greyhound. “Did I not please you? Was I too selfish, not giving you enough of your pleasure before my own?”

Cynara took a deep breath, feeling a blush roll across her face. “You did fine, but that’s not the point.”

“So I _did_ do as a good husband should,” Loki murmured, “and I am prepared to keep you happy and oh so very satisfied in our marriage bed to the best of my considerable abilities. What we have shared so far is not a _tenth_ of what is to come, my Sigyn. Believe me as you have never believed anything else in your life.”

Cynara clutched the sheet more tightly and tried to scoot away from him without exposing any flesh. “Look, I _know_ you have a huge reputation for um . . . you-know-what, but this isn’t going to work out. I’m human, you’re a god. You’ve got stuff to do, out there, away from Earth. Mythic . . . cosmic . . . stuff . . .” she found herself leaning towards him, caught by his smoldering green eyes and dimpled smirk. The desire to kiss those dimples rose up in her and she scowled. “Why do you want to be married anyway? It’s not as if you need a wife . . . or _do_ you?”

“I _need_ nothing. However, a wife in marriage—you in particular—has its advantages,” Loki admitted, slipping an arm around her shoulders. “For instance, the plane.”

“The plane?”

“In the dream,” Loki nodded. “You were able to contact me there. That was never supposed to be possible for a human. I did not enslave you the last time I was on Earth; I did not even know of your existence and yet you arrived when I was bound, and admired my body.”

“Moving on,” Cynara muttered, blushing. “So the dream was . . . destined?”

“You ARE Sigyn,” Loki pointed out, running a finger down her nose and over her lips. “My savior with the bowl. The bride who keeps me from agony. You are of Earth; you are my link away from punishment.”

“But I just dreamed it. It was random!”

Loki pulled her over him, settling her in a straddle of his lap and Cynara felt the thick ridge of his shaft pressing along the seam of her sex. He locked eyes with her, and let his index finger slide from her lips down her chin and throat, coming to rest between her breasts, right on the tiny pink scab between them. “I do not believe in coincidences; I believe in undiscovered connections.”

She looked down. “The staff. I cut myself.”

“And in doing so, linked yourself to me,” he nodded. “Does that not strike you as far too much of a coincidence?”

Cynara was unwilling to admit that there did seem to be a line of logic to his words, and when the shaft she was straddling gave a throb, she gasped. Loki laughed seductively.

“Stop that,” she groused. “We’re having a serious discussion here.”

“ _You_ have having a discussion; _I_ am waiting until you are done so that we might continue the intimacy of this marriage,” he purred, sliding his hands around her hips and grinding himself up against her.

“We’re not really married,” Cynara huffed, trying to keep her traitorous body from responding to his, damn it. “You signed the license under Theo’s name.”

“You are mistaken my bride; my own true name graces the document in question, but you of all people should know that the only binding that matters in this comes from Asgard. We have made our vows, shared mead and bedded one another on the same night; by that more exalted law we _are_ married.”

Cynara leaned forward, bracing her hands against the padded headboard and tried to glare at him, but found herself kissing his arrogant smirk, which was a huge mistake.

Everything about Loki was huge and a mistake, she thought dimly. It didn’t seem fair that he should be so . . . good in bed. After a few breathless kisses she sighed. “I . . . demand a dower.”

He rolled with her, pinning her under him, teeth dazzling white. “But name it, my queen, and it shall be yours.”

Cynara opened her mouth, and just then the door to the suite blew open, slamming across the room to the far wall, followed by a deep baritone cry of “Loki!”

“And I was so very _sure_ I put that little sign outside,” Loki grumbled, reluctantly rolling off of her to glare towards the doorway. “Brother, your timing as always is unacceptable.”

“Release the girl, Brother, or suffer my wrath anew!” Thor bellowed, striding into the suite. Cynara yelped and reached for the sheet, pulling it around herself as another man—this one with a drawn bow and a quizzical look stepped in. He took a stance, arrow at the ready. After him came someone else, and Cynara bit her lips, wishing for a gigantic hole to open up and swallow her.

“Special Technician Sigyn,” Nick Fury drawled as he strolled in. “Just what the _hell_ are you doing?”

“I think that should be obvious, even to a one-eyed man,” Loki pointed out sweetly. “And from now on you will refer to her as Mrs. Laufeyson.”

“No!” Thor sighed, shaking his head sorrowfully. He looked at Cynara, blue eyes reproachful. “I warned you. Did I not warn you about his trickery? His willfulness?”

“Sir, yes. It started under false pretences,” Cynara began, addressing Fury, her hands in a death lock around her sheet. “I mean, I thought he was someone else—”

“Possessed,” this came from the man with the bow—Barton, if she remembered correctly--“I know the feeling.”

“I’m not possessed!” Cynara protested.

“In truth she possessed _me_ ,” Loki interjected dreamily, putting his hands behind his head and leaning against the headboard. “It was a glorious consummation; to be the first of many.”

“I don’t think so,” Fury replied. “In the first place, Special Technician Sigyn isn’t authorized to marry an off-world alien.”

“Authorized?” Barton asked quizzically. “What, do we have a _form_ for that somewhere?”

“It’s in the regulations,” Fury admitted. 

“A technicality,” Loki scoffed. “According to Asgardian law she and I _are_ wed.”

“This true?” Fury turned to Thor, who gave a grimace and sighed.

“If he has taken vows and shared both mead and bed, then by my people’s laws he is joined to Sigyn until death,” he admitted heavily.

“Asgardians don’t get divorced, I take it,” Fury grumbled.

“Death is easier,” Thor gave a sheepish shrug. “Although there is still the matter of her bride price.”

“Dower,” Cynara broke in loudly. “It’s my right.”

“Could somebody let me know if anything needs shooting?” Barton called out. “Getting impatient here.”

Fury let his gaze sweep around the suite as he stepped closer to the bed. “So let me get this straight, Special Technician Sigyn. You are willing to stay married to this . . .” he waved at Loki, “mass murder from space, and for what?”

She took a deep breath, lifting her chin and looked at Fury even though her words were directed over her shoulder. “I want Phil Coulson back. Alive and well, just as he was before you killed him. _That_ is my dower.”

Nobody spoke. Barton relaxed the tension on his bow, as Thor cocked his head.

Loki smiled. It was a strangely tender one, Cynara thought; touched with sardonic sweetness, as if he understood exactly why she’d asked for this. He slowly reached over, long, elegant finger squeezing into her cleavage to touch the healing cut there.

“His blood was on the staff. Just enough of it . . .”

Slowly a glowing column flared out of thin air at the foot of the bed, sparkling green and silver in faint swirls that looked like strands of DNA. Cynara stared, as did the four men as the pillar of light re-shaped into the slim, slouch-shouldered shape of Phillip. J. Coulson.

Naked.

The light faded, and no-one spoke. Coulson blinked and dropped his hands to cover his crotch, clearly confused and doing his best to assess his situation. Blushing everywhere, he looked at Fury, his voice fairly steady. “Boss.”

“Phil,” came the quiet whisper. “Damn.”

Still staring with his one good eye, Fury pulled off his leather coat and tossed it over; gratefully Coulson pulled it on and closed it, then looked around. Thor came over and laid a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Son of Coul. It is very good to see you again.”

“Ah, thank you,” Coulson replied, clearly confused. “You too.”

Cynara scrambled off the edge of the bed, pulling the sheet with her. “Phil. You’re okay? You’re all right?”

“I’m fine. Last thing I remember was . . . a big gun.”

Fury was staring at Loki now, his expression bleakly grateful. He gave a slow nod that Loki returned. “It seems we have . . . an agreement,” Fury murmured. 

“This wasn’t for _you,_ ” Loki pointed out with quiet intensity, “even though you and others will benefit by it. I have taken a bride by my world’s laws _and_ yours. She has joined with me willingly and I have given her dower in accordance to tradition; therefore I expect her to be treated well.”

“She won’t be detained, if that’s what you’re getting at,” Fury agreed.

“ _Our_ business is unfinished,” Loki nodded, “but she remains outside of it.”

“Bring me up to speed,” Coulson murmured to Barton under his breath as he stared at the bed.

“From what I can figure, she married him and asked for _you_ as a wedding present. It’s . . . a little kinky.”

“Yeah,” Coulson agreed. “That doesn’t generally happen to me.”

“Sir,” Cynara broke in, “it’s just a _personal_ relationship. I’m not going to take his side against the earth or anything.”

“Damn right you’re not,” Fury nodded. “Considering it’s where you _live_ and all. All right, we’ll get the form filled in and handle matters from there. I don’t like it, but I won’t argue the point.” He turned and gave Coulson a long glance, then turned and walked out.

Barton let one arrow fly, burying it into the headboard between the top of Loki’s head and the antlers above before he followed Fury and Coulson out. Thor retrieved the door, coming over to look at them and Cynara felt herself blush all over again.

“You chose well,” Thor told Loki. “Treat her as your queen, Brother.”

Loki inclined his head and Thor lumbered away, propping the door shut behind him. Cynara watched him go, feeling a peculiar twist of happiness at seeing Phil again and a sudden sense of serious doubt.

Shit. She was married. Not only married, but to a capricious temperamental god who could kill her without blinking an eye. A malicious force determined to overthrow his world or destroy it, and here _she_ was, a frail little being with no particular defense and a nebulous future at best.

“Okay, so here’s the deal. I don’t think we should have kids, I like my career and maybe _separate_ bank accounts would be a smart idea . . .” Cynara muttered.

“I must leave in the morning,” Loki told her, slipping an arm around her waist and pulling her to him. “My escape has not gone unnoticed, and Thor will share the news of our marriage. Freya will be glad; I doubt Odin will much care. It is not much time, but let us make it memorable.”

Cynara felt his lips against her temple, his long arm around her and sighed. “Oh it’s already memorable, baby. I guess we need to see if it’s survivable.”

He laughed. She pushed aside any further considerations and kissed his bare shoulder, appreciating the silky warmth of it, and whispered into his ear. “Is that an enchanted staff, or are you just glad to see me?”

“Both,” Loki purred, and pulled her to him.

EPILOG

Her new badge was waiting for her on her desk; she picked it up and studied it for a second before clipping it onto her breast pocket. Cynara Sigyn-Laufeyson--that was going to be a mouthful. 

When Cynara looked up, Phil Coulson was in the doorway, holding out a steaming cup from Starbucks in her direction. 

She took it.

He cleared his throat. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Cynara told him quietly and added, “He uh, won’t kill you again. Just FYI.”

“I appreciate that,” Coulson nodded. “So . . .”

“We’re . . . working things out,” Cynara confessed. “I’m still pissed about Theo, and of course there’s the whole gallivanting around the universe and consorting with evil deities thing. I did get a ring, though, and some property in Svalbard, so I guess that’s good.”

“Svalbard,” Coulson echoed. “Nice, I think.”

An awkward pause filled the moment, and then Cynara sighed. “Phil . . . we missed you. I had the chance and I took it, and I would do it again, okay? Me, I’m just a little cog around here, but you . . . you kind of matter to S.H.I.E.L.D. and to the director and the Avengers and you sure as hell matter to Holly up in Portland.”

He gave her a crooked grin and Cynara slipped into his hug, feeling that for the moment, all was right with the world.

“You DO know you work for the Agency that’s dedicated to taking your husband down?” Phil whispered.

Cynara pulled back and grinned. “Job security. Come on, I’ve got this cool algorithm for Futhark translation to show you . . .”

END


End file.
